When the metal doors parted, Ethan was already standing by the ice machine at the end of the hall.

He wore his dark suit trousers and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

He checked his silver watch, then looked up and saw me.

I walked toward him.

The hallway was completely empty behind him, silent except for the low hum of the ice machine.

“Look, I’m here,” Ethan said.

He reached out and took both of my hands.

His grip was firm and steady.